Rebel Mechanics (19 page)

“That's quite enough insulting your sister in her absence,” Lord Henry said with an ill-concealed grin. I was smiling myself. It was a good sign if the children were already joking. “Now, off to bed with the both of you.”

Rollo went right away, but Olive lingered. “I don't think I can sleep,” she said plaintively.

“If you go choose a book and then get in bed, I predict that Miss Newton will come read you a story.”

“I can read
her
a story,” she said indignantly before flouncing off to her room.

When she was gone, Lord Henry turned to me, his smile fading and his shoulders sagging with weariness. I suddenly felt intensely conscious of standing before him in my nightgown, with my feet bare and my hair loose and wild. It was an extremely inappropriate way of facing my employer. I reassured myself that we had kept the lights off in the room, which made the nightgown less revealing. “I don't think they'll come back tonight,” he said softly, “but we'll keep a watch, all the same.”

The sound of a clanging bell sent us to the window to see the police and a fire crew arriving. “I hope no one was hurt,” I said.

“I should go out to check the damage and see if anyone needs help,” he said, still staring out the window. Then he turned to me. “Thank you for being so calm in the crisis tonight. That helped the children remain calm.” He stared at me for a long moment more before saying, “Olive's probably wondering if she'll get that story.”

“Maybe she's already fallen asleep.”

“Olive? Not likely.” Before I could leave, he took my hand. “Again, thank you. I believe I made a very good decision in hiring you, Miss Newton.”

As I went to Olive's room, two things occurred to me: he'd called me by my Christian name during the crisis, apparently entirely unconsciously, and he hadn't been wearing his eyeglasses, even while having his shotgun at the ready, in spite of his claim that he was practically blind without them.

Now I knew for certain that Lord Henry's absentminded-scientist persona was nothing more than an act. Did that mean he really was the bandit, after all?

 

IN WHICH I REASSESS MANY THINGS

Olive fell asleep five pages into her story, but there was little sleep for me that night. I returned to my room to finish writing my article, but it was nearly impossible to concentrate with so many conflicting thoughts swirling around in my brain. Alec, who had acted so devoted to me, who had kissed me so ardently, had callously disregarded the possible consequences of my spying for the rebels. Lizzie and Colin, who'd seemed such true friends, had staged that deception. I still wasn't sure whether the rebels had lied to me about not expecting violence at the picnic. And now I was certain that Lord Henry was the masked bandit I'd encountered on the train.

But what should I do about my discovery? If I knew he was the leader of the Masked Bandits, wasn't it the duty of a good citizen to report him to the police? Criminal or not, I knew he was a good man. He was generous and kind, and he was spending his own youth caring for his brother's children. There had to be some reason for his secret life of crime. I reassured myself with the fact that the Masked Bandits apparently only stole from the government. Perhaps they were like Robin Hood, stealing for a worthy cause rather than for greed. I couldn't turn him in until I knew what he was really doing and why.

Then I had to wonder why I was so willing to justify Lord Henry's deception while I felt so betrayed by Lizzie's scheme. Both pretended to be something they weren't in order to achieve some goal. Lord Henry was living a lie, hiding his activities from everyone, while Lizzie had only lied to the general. She had admitted what she was doing to me, and it seemed to be a one-time-only event. Still, it felt different and I didn't understand why.

If I was honest with myself, I wasn't blameless either. I hadn't let Lord Henry or the Mechanics know that I had magical abilities that implied I was the result of an illegal liaison. I was working among the Mechanics while being something I knew they hated. Perhaps I had been too harsh on them.

The next morning, I arrived in the breakfast room as breakfast was being set out to find Lord Henry already there, seated at the table with his head bent over the newspaper. I held my breath and hovered in the doorway for a moment, tempted to turn back and wait until later to eat. I didn't know what to think of him anymore. Shockingly, it wasn't his criminal activities that first came to mind, but rather the recollection of his hand on my waist, with only my nightgown between us. I unconsciously moved my own hand up to my waist at the memory.

But this morning I was armored in my layers of undergarments, corset, and woolen dress, and my hair was safely knotted at the back of my head. He was fully dressed as well, and his spectacles were back in their accustomed position, making it easier for me to pretend that he was exactly what he appeared to be instead of so much more.

“Good morning, Lord Henry,” I said as I forced myself to enter the room. When he looked up at me, I knew he'd slept even less than I had. Behind his glasses, his eyes were bloodshot with dark shadows underneath.

“Miss Newton,” he said mildly, but there was a slight twitch of a muscle in his jaw that made me wonder what he thought of the night before.

When the servants finished arranging the breakfast dishes and brought us tea, I asked, “How bad was the damage last night?”

“Not as bad as I feared. A few broken windows, some red paint thrown against walls, and any wooden fences were burned, but it wasn't wholesale destruction. I suspect it was meant more as a demonstration than as a real attack. The neighbors thought it was the Irish from the slums, but this is a very long way for them to travel to throw a few rocks.”

Olive's arrival put a halt to the conversation. She hugged her uncle, then came over to me. “Miss Newton, I am sincerely sorry for falling asleep last night when you were reading me a story,” she said, her head bowed in contrition.

I patted her on the shoulder. “That's quite all right. I was reading you the story to help you sleep.” She brightened instantly and took her seat to nibble at a slice of toast.

Henry met my eyes, and for a second I caught a glimpse of the man who lay behind the absentminded mask. The mask returned when Rollo entered, bright-eyed and eager. “Did they burn down the city?” he asked.

“It probably won't be in the newspaper until the afternoon edition,” his uncle said, “but there was little damage around here.”

“Oh.” Rollo's shoulders sagged with disappointment as he turned to fill his plate from the sideboard.

“But until we know more,” Lord Henry continued, “I'll walk you to school this morning. I'd rather not have Olive and Miss Newton that far from home on their own.”

I barely swallowed my cry of dismay. I'd hoped to give my article to Nat on the way home from the school. “Do you really think it's that bad?” I asked, trying to sound as though the answer was immaterial to me. “They'll hardly riot in daylight.”

“I'm probably being overly cautious,” Lord Henry agreed. “But please indulge me this once.” I couldn't argue with that, not without raising suspicions, but I needed to find a way to get out, however briefly.

Mrs. Talbot entered the breakfast room and said, “Sir, there's been a message from the school. Classes are canceled for today. There was some damage from last night's unfortunate events. Repairs are being made, and classes should resume tomorrow at the usual time.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Talbot,” Lord Henry said with a nod, and she departed.

Rollo jumped out of his seat with a shout of triumph.

“If I weren't absolutely certain that you didn't leave the house last night, I'd suspect you of having done the damage yourself,” Lord Henry said to his nephew. “However, your celebration is premature. You'll have lessons today with Miss Newton and Olive.”

“That's not fair!” Rollo blurted. “Everyone else in my class will have a holiday.”

“Then you'll be ahead of them.” To me, Lord Henry added, “I think you should work on his reading and writing. Math and science aren't a problem, but his writing is barely literate. Perhaps some Latin drills, as well.”

A steady
thunk, thunk
told me that a sulking Rollo was kicking his heels against his chair legs. Although I understood Lord Henry's reasoning, he hadn't done me any favors. It would tax my skills to work with two such different pupils, especially when one of them resented having to take lessons. It also made delivering my article even more difficult. At this rate, I'd never get away from the house.

Rollo came to my rescue. “Can't we at least go out and see what happened?” he begged.

Lord Henry hesitated, and before he could deny the request, I hurried to say, “I doubt he'll be able to concentrate while he's so curious. Perhaps I could make it his writing exercise. He could write an essay on the aftermath of the riot.” Worried that I sounded overly eager, I added, “That is, if you don't think it's too dangerous. We would stay within sight of the house.”

“I would like to read this essay when it's written,” Lord Henry said.

Rollo bounced out of his seat. “So I can go out?”

“After you've finished eating and when Miss Newton is ready.”

Rollo immediately set to wolfing down the rest of his breakfast with great enthusiasm, his sulk entirely forgotten.

Flora drifted into the room, dressed in a morning dress but with her hair still loose. “You're up early,” her uncle remarked dryly.

“I had such a restful night, there was no need to linger in bed.”

“A restful night?” Rollo asked with a snort, and Olive giggled.

Flora turned around from serving herself from the sideboard. “What's so funny about that?” she asked.

“You didn't hear anything odd last night?” Rollo asked, his eyes wide with disbelief.

“Was there anything to hear?”

“Only a huge riot that came up the avenue, with hundreds of people shouting and throwing rocks and setting fires.” He waved his arms vigorously as he spoke.

“There was no such thing. Stop making up stories. That's so very childish.”

“There
was
a riot,” Lord Henry said. “Our house escaped unscathed, but our neighbors lost some windows.”

“You're in on it, too,” she accused.

“Really, there was a riot,” I said. “You must sleep very soundly not to have heard it. Mrs. Talbot even went into your room to ensure your safety.”

“Rollo's school is closed for the day because of the damage,” Lord Henry added. “He'll be having lessons at home. I believe you already have your reading for the week.”

“I do?”

“The book your aunt lent you?” At her blank look, he prompted, “You're supposed to go with Miss Newton to discuss it on Thursday.”

“Oh, yes, that,” she replied, her cheeks tinting delicately with pink.

“You forgot about it completely,” Rollo chortled.

“I did not. I merely set aside time this week to read it.”

The instant I put down my fork, Rollo was out of his seat like a shot. “Hat, gloves, and coat!” his uncle called after him. “It's cool this morning. Autumn has definitely come to us.”

When I went up to my room to get my own hat, gloves, and coat, I folded my article into a narrow packet and tucked it into my left glove, against my palm. Now all I needed was to find someone to take it from me, for I feared I wouldn't get out again.

Rollo practically danced with impatience in the foyer while he waited for me to button Olive's coat. He tore down the front steps to the sidewalk, where he stopped and looked up and down the avenue. When Olive and I reached him, he complained, “There's hardly anything to see.”

“That's what your uncle said. It appears they made a lot of noise but did little damage.”

We walked down the sidewalk to the neighbor's house. The front windows on the lower level had been boarded over, and servants were scrubbing a great red stain off the white marble fa
ç
ade. Other servants picked trash out of the front garden. I found these blots on the perfection of the block shocking, but Rollo kicked at the ground in disappointment. “That's all?” he asked.

“One would think you sympathized with the rioters,” I teased.

The white picket fence at the next mansion was charred. Tears trickled down Olive's cheeks. “That was such a pretty fence. I liked it. And the roses burned, too. They shouldn't have burned the roses.”

“When people get that angry, they don't think about things like that,” I said gently.

“Why were they angry?”

“We don't know yet.”

“They won't come back, will they?” Olive asked, her lip trembling.

“I don't know that either.”

Rollo and Olive got into an argument over the best way to get rid of invading rioters, in case they came back, and I took advantage of their distraction to look around for a possible newspaper contact. The only people in sight were servants and workmen cleaning up the mess. Could it be one of them? None of them appeared to be wearing the Mechanics' symbol, and none of them seemed to notice me.

At the end of the block, I led the children across the avenue to walk on the park side of the street back toward the house. They were now debating whether we should have thrown things at the rioters as they passed. “I bet they wouldn't have expected that,” Rollo said.

“But then they'd have been mad at us, and they'd have hurt our house,” Olive countered.

When we stood across from the Lyndon mansion, it was striking how untouched it appeared in contrast to its neighbors. Most of the damage to the nearby mansions was merely vandalism, but it still looked unseemly against the gleaming, virginal white of the Lyndon home.